


An Assortment of Impossibilities

by withthekeyisking



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, BAMF Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, But he's trying, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Demigod AU, Demigod Damian Wayne, Demigod Dick Grayson, Demigod Jason Todd, Demigod Tim Drake, Gen, batboys are half-bloods!, bruce isn't a half-blood but he's something, i spent a wild amount of time researching for this fic, obviously, well he's new to the parenting thing, you know what they're all bamfs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: The last thing Bruce expected from his day was to find out he has a twelve-year-old son. No, scratch that; the absolute last thing Bruce expected from his day was to find out he had a twelve-year-olddemigodson.Dick was eight when his parents fell to their deaths and he did not, instead carried safely to the ground by the wind. That was nine years ago, and he's been at Camp Half-Blood ever since.But a quest gone wrong forces Dick to confront some demons from the past, and work hard to protect the family he's found for himself, despite what the gods have planned for their offspring.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 38
Kudos: 266





	An Assortment of Impossibilities

**Author's Note:**

> So the boys' ages have been pushed closer together than they are in canon, because PLOT. Dick is seventeen, Jason is fifteen, Tim is fourteen, and Damian is twelve.
> 
> I was bullied into creating this story and now I'm stuck here. Don't mind me, just dusting off my Percy Jackson books like I'm ten years old again.

Alright, Dick can admit that maybe the situation has spun a little out of control.

Of course, Jason would probably tell him that they passed_ maybe_ and hit_ utter shitshow_ quite a while ago. Would tell him that the situation was so far past_ a little out of control_ that his oversimplification of the situation was ridiculously boneheaded for someone who's been doing this as long as Dick has.

Then again, Jason is currently unconscious, so his opinion doesn't really matter at the moment, does it.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the Empousa coos. "I only want to _talk,_ little demigods! We can have a nice little chat."

Dick's almost offended that she thought that would work, but he resists the urge to scoff. Right now, Jason would be rolling his eyes. Tim would have the most exasperated expression. And that isn't even touching upon the outrage_ Damian_ would be expressing. Though, Dick supposes, there isn't much that_ doesn't_ outrage Damian.

Dick chances a glance around the edge of the boulder they're hiding behind, slowing peaking his head out. There are still three Empousais left after the fight earlier, the one where he and Jason took down eight all on their lonesome, before one of the monsters managed to get a good swipe in, a large gash opening across Jason's chest and sending him sprawling to the ground, hitting his head before he could catch himself and knocking him unconscious.

Frankly it was a miracle Dick had managed to get Jason and himself hidden as quickly as he did.

"I'm never going to let you hear the end of this," Dick whispers to his unconscious brother, but he knows it's not true. Saying it makes him feel better about the whole situation, though.

"I can smell his _blood,_ little demigod," another Empousa calls out, and Dick ducks his head back as she turns to face his direction. "It's not long before we find him, and then you!"

Well, she's not wrong about that. He's keeping ahold of the breeze for now, keeping their scent from reaching the Empousai, but that's only going to last so long. It's been a long day, one that ended with a long fight, and he's tired. He needs all of his strength to take the three of them out, which means he can't keep using his abilities the way he is, especially with how hard the wind is fighting him right now.

Anemoi—gods of the wind—can be real bitches sometimes, especially when it comes to messing with him. Beef with his dear old dad, or something. Since his godly parent is kind of a dick (pun intended), Dick can't really blame them most of the time.

But right now? Fuck yeah he can.

Dick looks down at Jason; the younger boy is turning an unfortunate pale color. He needs some Ambrosia to heal, or Nectar, but Dick doesn't have any on him, which means this needs to end soon so that they can regroup with Tim, who _does_ have a baggie of the good stuff on him.

Who thought splitting up was a good idea again?

Oh, that's right. It was Dick.

Dick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, sending up a small prayer to Zephyrus, the wind god who's always been kinder and more likely to help him out (or at least not actively work against him).

Then, Dick calls out, "Over here!" and _pushes_ his voice, pushes it through the air, the wind carrying it swiftly and smoothly until it's on the other side of the clearing before the sound even reaches the monsters waiting to kill him.

He peers back around the boulder and watches the three Empusai whirl around to face the direction he sent his voice, rushing towards it. Dick grins and sends a quick thanks to Zephyrus; it's more than likely that the god hadn't done a thing, that Dick had simply accomplished that by himself, but when in doubt he's learned it's always better to be _overly_ respectful than not respectful enough. Gods are touchy beings, and you never know when you might need one's help in the future.

Dick moves quickly, drawing his twin celestial bronze blades from his back with not a sound, using the air around him to mask the sound of them leaving their sheaths, and also of his footsteps across the forest floor.

The first Empousa dies fast, disintegrating after he pulls one of his short swords from her heart. The screech she makes draws the attention of the other two, but the element of surprise is still going strong, so he takes the second one down with barely any trouble.

The third is far trickier, and most certainly angry. She screams as she charges him, hair and eyes aflame, and he dodges swipe after swipe of her terrible claws, twirling out of the way each time.

Because see, _this_ is something he's always been good at. Demigods are all hardwired for fighting, and Dick never feels it more than moments like this, when it's him or the creature, life or death, his _brother_ riding on the outcome too. The movements come as easily as breathing, twirling and striking and dodging, and the Empousa might be strong but he takes her down all the same, chopping off her head with one clean stroke.

"Well," Dick says to nobody, watching the last of the monsters fade into nothing, "that was fun."

* * *

Dick's spent more of his life at Camp Half-Blood than he has away from it.

He was eight when his parents died, and unlike a majority of the orphan demigods he meets, they weren't killed by monsters. No, Mary and John Grayson died for no reason other than greed, a despicable man cutting the ropes of the trapeze simply to scare a circus ringmaster who wouldn't pay him money.

Dick should've died with them. And he doesn't say that to be macabre, or to blame himself for something that was far from his fault, but because it's true.

When the ropes snapped, all three of them fell.

Dick simply didn't hit the ground.

A satyr found him not long after, dragging him from his unfortunate foster home and going on and on about how hard he'd been to find, what with the constant moving. How even with a scent as strong as his, he'd been near impossible to find. Lucky, the satyr said, that he'd been part of a circus. That he'd had no choice but to keep moving. Kept the monsters off his back.

Dick's never thought it was _lucky._ He's always thought his mom simply knew something. She _knew._ And she was protecting him.

It took his godly parent a year or so to _actually_ claim him, but it never bothered Dick. He knew who his mother and father were—Mary and John. Which one of them wasn't _blood related_ to him didn't matter even slightly to him back then, and still doesn't.

It was his ninth birthday when he got claimed, but by then it was too late—everyone knew. Anyone who spent more than five seconds around Dick would end up seeing how much he loved to fly. That lightning bolt appearing above his head was a no brainer.

(He remained living in the Hermes Cabin for three more years, though. He didn't like the big, empty Zues Cabin, not when the strange, _wild_ home of the Hermes half-bloods and the unclaimed made him feel comforted, made him feel like he was right back at the circus with his parents...)

He was thirteen when Jason Todd came to Camp-Half Blood. He was fourteen when Tim Drake first arrived. And it's only been eight months since Damian joined them, but he'd still die for him. He'd die for all of them.

They might not actually be his brothers (in fact, their relations to him are all very _strange,_ as it always is with gods) but Dick doesn't actually have any siblings of his own, and there's a bond he shares with the three of them that he doesn't with the others at Camp Half-Blood. Maybe it's because of _how_ he met each of them, how unique those meetings were.

But those are stories for another time.

"Hey, earth to Dickhead!"

Dick blinks and looks up, squinting against the sun. There's a boy standing in front of him, hands on his hips in an impatient posture, and despite the light it doesn't take Dick long to identify the boy, and he breaks out into a wide grin.

"Jay! You're awake!" He gets to his feet and pulls Jason into a tight hug. The younger boy grumbles a little but _does_ put his arms around Dick too, so Dick counts it as a win.

It doesn't take Jason long to push him away, muttering, "Alright, alright, that's enough, I'm fine."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm _fine,"_ Jason insists. "Seriously, man, it's like you don't understand what Nectar and Ambrosia _do."_

Dick cracks a grin and shakes his head. "What can I say? I'm protective."

Yes, he knows what Nectar and Ambrosia do for demigods. They heal. They heal in a way so complete that gaping wounds turn to scars which are never more than faint lines on the body within minutes. He knows this. He's been witnessing it since he was eight years old. There was never any doubt Jason was going to be perfectly fine, after some rest in the Big House.

But once you've pressed your hands to a gigantic hole in your brother's chest as he bleeds out on a forest floor and you're mostly useless to do anything, no knowledge of how helpful the food and drink of the gods are will help you calm down until you see your brother walking and talking.

Dick's been doing this a while. But that fear for his brothers, for his friends? No, he'll never get used to that.

"Where's Timmy?" Dick asks, glancing towards the Big House's front door. Last he checked, Tim had been sitting with Jason.

They'd decided long ago that none of them wanted the others to wake up from a bad injury alone, so they took shifts. Technically, Dick's shift ended an hour ago and he was supposed to be back at his cabin by now, sleeping off the stress of the mission, but he couldn't leave until he knew for sure Jason was going to wake up okay.

He always stays. He thinks by this point, after knowing him for so long, his brothers have simply accepted it.

Jason waves him off. "He was there when I woke up, don't worry. He went to go talk to Chiron about something he found while we were out there."

Dick hums, nodding. Tim _had_ mentioned seeing something strange when they'd met up again, but they'd both been focused on getting Jason back safely that Dick didn't ask for more details. He'd ask later at dinner if it was really something concerning.

"C'mon," Jason says, nodding his head towards the arena, "let's go make sure the brat isn't being too much of a, well, _brat."_

Dick looks at the other boy in exasperation. "You don't know Damian's at the arena, he _does_ do other things, you know. And stop calling him a brat."

Jason simply smirks. "Dickie, you're deluding yourself if you actually believe he doesn't spend every waking hour in that arena being a pain in the ass to every camper older than him."

And with that, Jason bounds down the porch steps and then begins heading towards the arena. Dick sighs, shaking his head, and heads after him.

The thing, though, is that Damian _doesn't_ spend all his time training, despite what everyone believes. Sure, it _seems_ like it, given how Damian barely seems able to talk about anything other than training, especially about how he's better than everyone else.

But Dick's seen Damian sitting by the lake in the middle of the night, drawing the stars. He's seen him nursing a baby bird back to life, and holding it with all the gentleness in the world. He's seen him taking shifts watching over injured campers, vigilant and attentive.

Dick knows who Damian Wayne is, at his core. And he's not the blood-thirsty little half-blood everyone seems to think he is.

This time, however, Jason is right, and Damian _is_ in the arena. He's not alone, and Dick can't help the snort of amusement that escapes him when he sees that Damian's two opponents are children of Ares. Gavin and Sam, both at least three years older than Damian, look _furious,_ which is to be expected as they are currently in the process of getting their asses kicked by a twelve-year-old.

There's a smirk playing on Damian's lips that shows he knows exactly the effect he's having, and is very pleased by it.

Yeah, okay. Maybe Damian is a _bit_ of a brat.

Dick and Jason wait, neither having any interest in interrupting the fight. In fact, Dick even sees Jason's fingers twitching slightly, and he wonders if his little brother is maybe tapping in to a bit of his powers for this, and Dick resists the urge to throw up his hands; between Jason and Damian, he's surprised _anyone_ with an ego wins a fight around here.

"You little fucker," Gavin seethes once he's been disarmed and knocked on his ass. "You cheated!"

Damian stiffens and raises his chin. "I have done no such thing!" Dick takes a step forward, eyeing all of them cautiously in case another fight breaks out.

"Yes you did!" Sam insists, backing up his brother. "You used that—that _thing_ you can do, or whatever!"

Damian raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Oh, _please,"_ Jason scoffs, drawing the attention of the Ares boys to him, "you want to accuse _him_ of using his abilities? As _if_ the pair of you weren't attempting to curse his sword. The _arrogance_ rolls off of you guys in _waves."_

Ah, Dick realizes; _that's_ what Jason was doing. Simply...keeping things balanced. He's almost proud of the boy for using his powers like that, instead of how _destructive_ Jason can be.

"Hit the showers," Dick tells Gavin and Sam before they can spit something back. "Session's done."

They both scowl at him, but do as they're told. Gavin shoulder checks him as he walks by, but Dick barely notices it, heading toward Damian with Jason.

"I did not require your interference, Son of Nemesis," Damian sniffs contemptuously, sliding his sword into its sheath.

Jason rolls his eyes. "They deserved what they got." He smirks. "Trust me, I would know."

Damian looks him over with a critical eye, gaze lingering slightly on his chest where the wound had once been, and then clicks his tongue, heading out of the arena. Dick and Jason share a look, and then follow after him.

"How've you been, Dami?" Dick asks. It's been a couple weeks since they'd seen the younger boy, after all.

"If _I_ had been on the quest with you," Damian tells them smartly, ignoring the question, "that injury of yours would never have happened."

Dick and Jason share another look. _Honestly,_ Dick thinks, _how people think Damian is uncaring is absolutely ridiculous._ This kid was worried about them, no question, and bitter that he hadn't been allowed to go on the quest with them.

But more than three on a quest always brought disaster in its wake. Dick's seen it happen, experienced it firsthand. A few years ago, he was on a quest of five. It was important, life-changing, the prophesy calling for more than was usually allowed. They went, Dick leading it, despite being the youngest of the group.

The results were...

Dick contains a shudder.

Well. It's best not to dwell on the past if one can help it. The quest was successful, after all. No need to focus on the other aspects.

"Where is the Son of Athena?" Damian asks.

Jason sighs and rolls his eyes skyward. "One of these days," he says, "you're going to be capable of not addressing us all like a jackass."

_Shit._

Damian's shoulders tighten and he whirls around, teeth bared, and Jason's chin juts out in response. Dick steps forward instinctively, putting himself between his two brothers, hands raised slightly in peace.

He has to take a few deep breaths, though, because getting between Jason and Damian is different than getting between Tim and Damian, or, frankly, _anyone else_ with his brothers. Because Jason and Damian, the nature of their powers is so similar and yet so polarized, and standing been them when they're angry means you can _feel_ it. Now, Dick's always been a bit more sensitive to magic than many, but he's not the only one to notice it.

"Am I interrupting something?" someone asks, and Dick turns to see Tim there, watching the scene with an amused quirk to his lips.

"Thankfully," Dick agrees, and lowers his hands as he feels the tension in the air dissipate. He glances at Jason, who's already relaxed, looking to Tim expectantly. Damian, on the other hand, still looks disgruntled, so Dick slings an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, grinning at the outraged expression that earns him.

"What did Chiron say about what you found?" Jason asks, and Damian drops his outrage for curiosity.

Tim's expression sobers instantly. "You guys are gonna want to come with me."

* * *

Dick stares at the items on the table in front of him, barely daring to breathe. He can hear people arguing around him, in a distant sort of way, but he can't take his eyes off of the torn, bloody cloth, nor the broken arrowheads, nor the pieces of shattered shield.

_By the gods, don't be_ _dead._

"...have to go after them!" someone shouts.

"Are you insane? A quest already _did_ go after them, and Jason almost died!"

"That was _different,_ they didn't have a lead for the campers, just the sword, now we have a place to begin—"

"A place to _begin?_ Face it, those three are dead."

The electricity overhead _sparks,_ causing a few of the campers to shriek in surprise, ducking their heads. The room falls silent. Dick raises his head and sees them watching his with a wide array of expressions, ranging from sympathetic to irritated. He feels a smaller hand slip into his, and squeezes back when Damian does, appreciating the attempt at support.

"They're not dead," Dick says evenly.

"Dick," someone says hesitantly, but he doesn't take note of who.

"They're not dead," he repeats, louder this time, and meets as many of their gazes as he can manage before he locks eyes with Chiron. "They're not. You sent us out there finish their quest and find them, right? Well, we finished their quest, we brought back your magic sword, but we didn't find _them._ So let us go out again."

"Richard, I understand your frustration," Chiron says, "but things have changed from when you departed. Bringing back these items, it shows that following the path Miss Troy and Misters Harper and West walked down will not end well. You know better than most how dangerous this life can be."

"So we just give up on them?" Tim asks angrily. "We just leave them out there?"

"They're more than likely dead—" someone begins.

"Alright, let's say they are," Jason interrupts, stepping up beside Dick. "Let's say you're right. Shouldn't we find out _why?_ What _happened_ to them? How about where their _bodies_ are, so we can give them a proper send off? You can't seriously be against this!"

_There's something he's keeping from us,_ Dick realizes, watching Chiron. There's something he knows about the situation, something he's not telling them. Because Chiron would never want to leave one of his campers behind, not if he could help it. And now he's telling them all to drop it? Yeah, no way. There's something else going on.

Wally, Roy, and Donna left for a quest two months ago, a quest that should've taken no more than two weeks. Dick, Jason, and Tim had been sent after them a month and a half later. They'd found the Sword of Peleus and brought it back to camp, the item his three friends had been after, but they'd found no signs of the other campers.

Or, they _had,_ but Dick had been focused on Jason bleeding out, and not the items Tim was putting into his backpack with a grim expression.

Dick doesn't know what Chiron's keep from them, doesn't know _why,_ but he knows he's not going to abandon his friends. He's not going to leave Wally, Roy, and Donna out there on their own, most likely injured going by what Tim found. No, that's not even _remotely_ an option.

Setting his jaw, Dick starts to come up with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter shit actually picks up lol, this was mostly set up. Let me know what you guys thought!


End file.
